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27 Nov 12:35

I can’t go back to prison.

by Jenny the bloggess

So, Victor yelled at me when he read my post yesterday because he said that the conversation we had last week about airplane-murder-eavesdropping was much better than the post I wrote yesterday about airplane-murder-eavesdropping and now we’re having a fight about who has a better story about airplane-murder-eavesdropping.  These are the arguments that normal people have all the time, probably.  Regardless, I’m sharing this today so that you can see why Victor and I have stayed married for 17 years even though we’re both sort of insane.  Feel free to skip this.  I’m on too little medication to know what I’m doing right now.

Conversation I had with Victor on google-chat while he was flying home after he was pissed because I missed eight of his calls and hadn’t read any of the emails he’d sent me:

me:  AAARGH.  DON’T YELL AT ME.  I feel like I’m fucking up everything and I can’t even tell what I’m fucking up because I’m fucking things up too badly to remember how badly I’m fucked them up.

Victor: No worries.  I have a list.  What’s your fax number?

me:  You know I don’t have one.  I’m not even technologically prepared to be yelled at properly.

Victor:  I created an outline and powerpoint of all the ways you’ve dissapointed the family.

Your sister and parents were involved.

We had to ask Microsoft to extend the number of supported slides.

me:  Is there animation?

Victor:  No animation.  This is serious.  

I sent it to you in email already, but don’t worry. You won’t ever read it so it’s all good.

me: *sigh*

 Victor:  It does have a picture of a cat that says “Hang in there” though.

But that’s at the end.

me:  If you had told me there was a cat picture I would have opened it.

Next time, lead with the cat picture.

Victor:  Can I call you with a cat picture from now on so you won’t ignore me anymore?

me:  I left the phone in the car and didn’t realize it wasn’t with me.  Maybe just staple my phone to my neck so I’ll always have it with me?

Victor:  Get google glass so it’s always on your head.

me:  That looks stupid.

I’d rather do neck staples.

Victor:  I use google glass.

me:  I know.

Victor:  Cell phone stapled to your neck: giving you cancer, making your neck hurt, and generally irritating everyone?

me:  I already do most of those anyway.

Victor:  Seriously though. I love you and am glad you are home.

So that I can criticize what you are doing.

me:  I love you too even though I’m going to murder you for yelling at me when I already feel fragile and stupid.  I need you to look over my murder plan when you get home though because I think I probably did it wrong.

Victor:  Did you cite references correctly? Because I don’t truck with peeps who cant follow AP guidelines.

me:  All my references are from wikipedia.  So, yeah.  It’s pretty untouchable.

Victor:  You should probably get one of those fancy report binders that indicate a complete lack of substance in the paper. Just in case you need some extra credit.

me:  I have one.  It has a unicorn on it.

And it’s printed on pastel paper with poofy clouds in the background.

Victor:  Clear plastic is the move, dufus.

me:  But then you can’t see the unicorn.

Victor:  Unicorns are for chumps.

me:  Take it back.  Take it back now.

Victor:  I’ve never gotten a job with a resume bound in a unicorn folder.

me:  Too bad.  You could have been Pluto by now.

The guy dressed as a dog at Disneyland, that is.

Not the planet.

Victor:  Pluto’s not a planet.  Minus 10 points.

Better find some clear plastic.


Victor:  Oh, that reminds me.  For the murder you also need clear plastic.  And pick up some pickles.  That’s was in one of my many emails you ignored.

me:  Oh, there will be pickles.  (There’ll Be Pickles would be a great sequel to There Will Be Blood.)

Victor:  I am pretty sure my google glass are flying the plane.  Kinda scared to turn them off at this altitude, just in case the pilot isn’t ready.

me:  You think he’s stealing the wifi on your glasses for google maps?

Victor:  Hope not, otherwise all the airports he looks up will have yelp ratings and crap.

Hey, look. I’m the mayor of the lavatory.

me:  I think it’s called “loo” on a plane.

Victor:  Nope. I just checked in and it’s the lavatory.

me:  Is there a window in there?  There was one in Air New Zealand.  Felt creepy.  Why do you need a window in a bathroom?

Victor:  So they can smoke. Convicts, you know?

me:  That’s a terrible generalization.  Besides, you don’t smoke convicts.  They’re better in stew.

Victor:  Who the fuck is making stew in the airplane bathroom?

me:  You mean “the lavatory“?

Victor:  This guy next to me keeps reading our chat.

me:  Did he read where we buried the body??

Victor:  I’m going to stab him in his eye if he does it again.

me:  Seriously, if he read about you-know-what then you need to track him down and make sure he doesn’t make it home.

I’m not going back to jail again.

Victor:  We can’t ever go back to jail again.